


You're Not Yourself

by sarahofcroydon



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, Gen, Professor Layton and the Last Time Travel, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahofcroydon/pseuds/sarahofcroydon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on fan speculation regarding the third game prior to release: older!Luke has come from the future to prevent Layton from dying from a cause he was unable to predict or prevent. Luke sees his younger self as he used to be, hating his naivete and envying his own innocence. Because we all know how much he looks up to and adores the Professor. ;_;</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Not Yourself

It was driving Luke crazy.  
  
The strange young man had been tailing them for days, now. He wore Luke's clothes, he spoke with Luke's accent, and if Luke hadn't known anything about time travel, he would have presumed he was some kind of crazy stalker set on impersonating him.  
  
As it was, Luke did know something about time travel, and the young man also bore Luke's birthmark, a round red blotch behind his knee that was a little lighter than Luke's own. He furrowed his brow like Luke did, he did up his top button too, and all the clues to the puzzle pointed only to one answer... he _was_ Luke, come from the future to follow them as they went on their puzzle-solving ways.  
  
Only... the young man denied it. When he didn't sneer or taunt or ignore them thoroughly, he only said one thing in response to Luke's questions-  
  
"I'm not Luke."  
  
Yet it was painfully obvious that he _was._  
  
The Professor told Luke to leave him be, and that the answer to the puzzle of the young man would make itself apparent soon enough. Luke could see the wisdom in that, yet at the same time he couldn't understand how he had apparently come to grow into such an obnoxious, nasty person, and he knew that the Professor was often too polite for his own good when it came to challenging situations such as these.  
  
So, one night when the Professor had gone to bed, Luke crept from their accommodations to the cobblestoned street outside to give his counterpart a piece of his mind.  
  
As expected, the young man was seated on a nearby wall as he had been for the past few nights, keeping watch over their lodgings while nursing a hot drink. Luke could smell it, as he watched the steam spiral from the liquid into the cold night air, and he was shocked- no, _appalled_ that he could have grown into such a delinquent.  
  
"That's coffee, isn't it?" He said briskly, pointing to the offending cup.  
  
"So what?" His counterpart eyed him, taking a sip.  
  
"Coffee raises your blood pressure and can be addictive," Luke sniffed, crossing his arms against his body to combat the cold. "The benefits of drinking coffee are minimal compared to a good, wholesome healthy drink like _tea_."  
  
The man snorted. "Run along and boil yourself a cup, then. I don't see how it's any of your business, what I drink."  
  
"It is my business!" Luke cried, "Because you're me! You're Luke!"  
  
"I'm not Luke."  
  
"Yes you are!" Luke found himself becoming agitated- his alternate could rile him up all too easily. "It's so obvious! The Professor won't say anything because he's too nice, but I will. What are you doing here?"  
  
"'The Professor, the Professor,'" The young man mimicked Luke's young voice. "You worship him, don't you? Why don't you run to your precious Professor and make him some tea, too, and leave me here to drink my terribly naughty coffee in peace?"  
  
Luke bristled, the disrespect in the man's tone infuriating.  
"Oooooooh," He said, attempting to lower his voice to a more manly tone. "You're so awfully rude! How can you say such things about the Professor, after all that he's done for you? For me? For us?"  
  
A curious expression flickered across the older man's face, the moment too swift for Luke to decipher. He got to his feet.  
  
"Like I said, shorty- I'm not Luke. That's how."  
  
"Yes you _are_ Luke! And you're saying horrible things about the Professor, who taught you all that you know!"  
Maybe the Professor had been right- Luke wasn't getting anywhere with his investigation. Maybe if he had-  
  
Luke started as his counterpart suddenly threw his cup of coffee over his shoulder, and took a step forward to tower over him, Luke only just overcoming his instinct to cower. The young man's blank, lazy expression had been replaced with something much more potent and terrifying.  
  
"I'm not Luke, because I'm not a whiny little self-assured brat," He sneered, and Luke's mouth dropped open, finding himself suddenly bereft of things to say in his righteous anger.  
  
"And I'm not Luke, because I know when to mind my own business, and when not to."  
  
Luke was infuriated. "It _is_ my business, you numbskull, because I'm _you_!"  
  
He was interrupted as his counterpart continued.  
  
"I'm not Luke, because I can stand on my own two feet and don't have to run crying to the Professor every time I skin my knee..."  
  
"You see, that's another reason I know that you're me! Look behind your knee, there's that birthmark-"  
  
"I'm not Luke," The man insisted loudly, his eyes bright in the darkness as he gripped Luke's shoulder, "because I know when to damned well _shut up!_!"  
  
  
Those final, harsh words echoed against the buildings lining the dimly lit street, fading to a heavy silence as the two Lukes stared at one another. The young man's gaze was more open than Luke had ever seen it, and as if he realised this, he made to leave, the expression on his face shutting itself down again into the same grim unaffectedness of before.  
  
Luke was too fast for him, though, and he reached out to grab his shoulder in turn.  
  
"Maybe," he said softly, "You're not Luke after all, because I for one try to be nice to people, and try to help people whenever I can."  
  
His counterpart let out a sound that sounded oddly like a choke, and the wild expression returned to his eyes.  
  
"Maybe," he said, through gritted teeth, "I'm not Luke for exactly those same reasons.  
  
Luke's big blue eyes widened as he stared into eyes that seemed so much more tired than his own. He hadn't considered a dark element to this puzzle, which had merely seemed an irritation, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer anymore.  
  
"Maybe-"  
  
"I don't like this," Luke said suddenly, not liking the look in his alternate's eye.  
  
"Maybe-"  
  
"I don't think I'm the one you should talk to..."  
  
"Maybe-"  
  
"W-wait, I'll go and fetch the Professor..."  
  
The grip on Luke's shoulder tightened to a painful intensity, and he was forced to look into his face from the future, twisted in some kind of terrible pain.  
  
  
"Maybe I'm not Luke, because if I was, then there wouldn't _be_ a Professor to fetch."  
  
  
Luke found that the gears of his mind were turning far too slowly to render an answer to such a simple equation, and his alternate smiled a terrible, sad smile.  
  
"I'm not Luke. And if I am, I won't be for much longer. Go back inside, go and make your tea, and go to bed. Forget that I'm here."  
  
"How can I... you just..."  
  
The young man's expression turned suddenly fierce, and he spoke again, more harshly this time.  
  
"Go. Leave me alone."  
  
"What happened? What did you do!?"  
  
"What didn't _you_ do, you mean? Scram, you ruddy bint, before I tell the Professor you're out of bed."  
  
"Why isn't the Professor around anymore? What do you mean, I did it? Tell me y-"  
  
Before he knew what was happening, the young man had picked Luke up, swung him over his shoulder and carted him rather ungracefully back to the house. Luke didn't quite have the guts to shriek, but he beat his fists against the man's back, kicking and struggling against his older self. He was unceremoniously dumped inside the house, and the door was shut in his face before he could scramble to his feet. Not wanting to shout for fear of waking the Professor, he knelt against the door and hissed through the mail chute, against which his counterpart had pressed his back to keep the door firmly closed.  
  
"Tell me what happened!" He demanded. "Let me out!"  
  
"Not till you're old enough," Was the quipped reply, and Luke felt the man stubbornly sitting himself against the door.  
  
"How old is that, then? I'll stay here till you tell me!"  
  
There was a pause before the answer came, the sound of Luke's disembodied older voice floating through the mail chute.  
  
"Never. You'll never be old enough, Luke."  
  
"You're old enough! Why can you know, and not me?"  
  
  
The dreaded answer came- "Because I'm not Luke."  
  
  
  
It was morning when Professor Hershel Layton descended the stairs in his nightgown to find his young apprentice slumped against the front door, fast asleep. The cause of this unusual occasion was unclear. As the Professor gently picked the sleeping Luke up from his position, he wasn't able to notice the other half of the puzzle's solution, lying fast asleep on the other side of the door, wearing Luke's clothing, snoring Luke's snore, and dreaming of a time when he introduced himself as Luke, apprentice to Hershel Layton, and was proud of it.


End file.
